


Magic In The Air

by accidentallyonpurpose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Original Character(s), Past Child Abuse, Potterlock, Protective John, So much angst, Therapy, father sherlock, sherlock is not emotionally constipated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: Sherlock and John are called to a strange crime scene, and stumble across a child with magic abilities.





	1. Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

> I was itching to write some potterlock, and this came to me. Enjoy! Kudos and comment, I eat 'em up!

“Like I said, it’s a strange one.”   
Greg Lestrade stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at a woman’s corpse. What was strange, besides the fact that there were no wounds, was that it was hovering upside down in midair, seemingly not attached to anything. Sherlock stood staring up at the body, hands steepled in front of his face.   
“How long has your team been here?”  
“About half an hour. They collected evidence around the room but no one has approached the body yet.”  
Sherlock’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in the small one-bedroom flat easily. They were in the main room, near the front door.   
“Have you found the child?”  
“What child?”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes in response and stalked over to a door across the room, revealing a closet.   
“We’ve already looked there-“ Greg started but was cut short when Sherlock flung the door open triumphantly. His face fell when he revealed nothing but an empty closet.   
“I could’ve sworn…” he mumbled, brow furrowing into a frown. He took a step into the closet, feeling along the walls for hidden seams or hinges. As he was nearing the corner he heard a whimper. He jumped back in surprise when he saw a little girl cowering in the corner. “Bloody hell!”  
“What?” Lestrade asked, rushing over. He looked down. “Where’d you come from?”  
The little girl said nothing, just looked up at both of them with wide eyes. She was emaciated, dark hair plastered to the side of her face and bones jutting out from her overly large t-shirt. Dark bruises littered her arms and legs, peeking out from beneath the hem of her shirt and the thin shorts she was wearing. Her thin arms were wrapped around her knees, which were shoved up to her chest.   
“How did you do that?” Sherlock asked, kneeling down and getting in the girl’s space. She pushed back so that she was against the wall. Tears welled in her eyes.  
“Oh come, don’t cry just tell me where you came from.” Sherlock insisted. Fat tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks.   
“Sherlock, leave her alone.” Greg walked over and pulled on Sherlock’s shoulder, prompting him to stand and take a few steps back. Greg took his place, kneeling in front of the girl but leaving a gap between them. “Can you tell us your name?”   
She didn’t take her eyes off of Sherlock until he had stalked away to look again at the body. She flicked her eyes back to Greg, staring unwaveringly.   
“We won’t hurt you.” He reached out a hand but stopped when the girl whimpered again. He withdrew his hand. “It’s okay.” He sat for another moment. “Will you come out from there? We won’t hurt you, I promise.”   
The girl didn’t answer.  
“Greg?”  
Greg turned to look over his shoulder.   
“John.” He stood.  
“Sherlock texted me to come by after work. I saw the body. You got any leads?” Greg, who had momentarily forgotten about the suspended body, took a moment to take John in. He seemed nervous, eyes darting around the room.   
“No, but Sherlock’s working on it.”  
“Sherlock said I should come see you?”   
Greg shifted slightly to the side so that John could see the young girl in the closet.   
“Oh.” He went slightly pale as he took in the small form in front of him, his eyes flicking back towards the front of the room where the body was still floating. He knelt down beside Greg. “Hello, my name is John. Can you tell me your name?”  
The girl stayed resolutely mute.   
“I know you’re scared, but I need you to tell me your name.” When he got no response, he changed tactics. “This isn’t your fault, okay? I know you’re scared. You’ve probably made things like this happen before, yeah? When you were scared or angry?”   
The girl blinked at him for a moment before nodding hesitantly.   
“That’s fine. It’s all fine. Will you come out now?”  
The girl hesitated for a moment before unwinding her arms from around her legs. Greg and John inched back enough to let her scoot her way out of the closet. She moved carefully, her arms and legs ambling as she navigated out. Her limbs didn’t seem strong enough to support her. She stared at John and Greg.  
“Liz,” she said softly.   
“Liz, is that your name?”  
She nodded her head.   
“Nice to meet you Liz. I’m John.”   
“I’m going to go see Sherlock.” Greg stood up and walked over to Sherlock.   
“I bad.” Liz whispered, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.   
“No, of course not.” John ached to reach out and wrap her in his arms.   
Tears welled up and coursed over her cheeks as she nodded frantically. Liz started sobbing, big hiccups wracking her body.   
“ You’re okay.” John, throwing all caution to the wind, reached forward and effortlessly pulled Liz into his arms. As he did, he heard a loud thud behind him.  
“Fuck!” Greg shouted. John turned around and saw the body on the floor.   
“Watch it!” John said.   
“Sorry, sorry,” Greg said. Both he and Sherlock were looking at the ceiling for some clue as to what had made the body fall.   
“John, did you see that?” Sherlock asked incredulously.  
“Yeah, not really my concern at the moment,” he answered, looking pointedly at the bundle of skin and bones currently cradled in his arms. “I might also have a theory about all of this.”  
“Doesn’t look like poison,” Sherlock rattled off absently, not hearing John. “I don’t see any signs of contusions or injury of any kind. Have Molly send me the tox screen A.S.A.P. John, ready to go?”  
John, who was still cradling Liz and whispering calming things to her, glared over at Sherlock.   
“Liz, can you look at me?”   
Liz pulled her face out from where it was nuzzled against John’s neck and valiantly tried to suppress her sobs.   
“I have something important I need to tell you. All of you.” John beckoned the other two men over. Greg had dismissed the rest of his people a few minutes earlier, so it was only the four of them in the flat. “I… I don’t think you need to look for whoever did this.”  
“Well it can’t very well be suicide, John.”   
“No, but…” John looked at Liz. “You said things happened? Before?”  
Liz nodded. “Lights. In the dark. Threw a toy once. On accident.”   
John nodded. Lights over beds was one of the common signs.   
“Sherlock. Greg. I have something to tell you.” John steeled himself. “I’m… a wizard.” He looked up at them. “And I think Liz is too. It’s common for young witches and wizards to make things happen out of their control when they’re young.”  
“So you think she-“ Sherlock looked over to the body now lying prone on the floor.   
“Yeah,” John interrupted him, tightening his arms around Liz momentarily. He looked down at Liz. She seemed to be in a bit of shock, staring blankly past Greg and Sherlock. John gently rubbed one of her arms. “Liz?” She looked dazedly back at him. “I know this is a lot to take in.” Liz started shaking in his arms.  
“I bad,” she murmured. “I bad, I bad, I-“ she pushed futilely at John’s arms, her eyes locking on the prone form. “Mommy!”   
“Liz, Liz, you’re not bad. It was an accident. You didn’t do anything, you’re safe now.”   
She started sobbing again, all the fight going out of her. John sat and rocked her for what felt like hours, until her sobs slowed and her eyes fell closed as she cried herself to exhaustion.   
“Did you already call NSPCC?”   
“You can’t expect me to just sit here after you tell me you’re a wizard? And that magic is real?”  
“Stranger things have happened?” John tried.  
Greg shook his head.  
“Did you want a demonstration?”  
“Can you?”  
John shifted carefully so that he wouldn’t wake Liz. He reached up his right sleeve, pulling out a short stocky wand. He looked around before spotting a vase on a table. He pointed his wand at it. “Wingardium Leviosa.”  
The vase lifted into the air a few feet before settling back onto the table.   
“Good enough?”  
“I suppose,” Greg said, staring at the vase in awe. Sherlock seemed nonchalant about the whole ordeal.  
“So, NSPCC?”  
“No, but once I file the case they’ll know there’s a child missing.”  
“Mycroft will take care of it,” Sherlock said from beside him. “I assume we’ll be taking the child?”  
“I think that would be best, for right now,” John answered. “As long as you don’t mind having her in the flat?”  
“She’ll make the flat less dull.”  
“You know she’s not an experiment you can discard when you get bored, right?”  
“Of course,” Sherlock looked offended. “Don’t be ridiculous.”  
“Okay, well we should go put her to bed, then.”  
“What should I do?” Greg asked.   
“Continue working on it as usual, but don’t be surprised if you’re told by higher-ups to drop it,” Sherlock answered.   
“Alright. I’ll call the team in to bag and tag her, then I’m going home for a pint or three.”  
John chuckled as he stood up, gently cradling Liz in his arms. “Don’t drink too much. Although you are taking this rather well, all things considered.”  
“Taking things in stride comes with the job,” Greg said, shrugging.   
“Give us a ring tomorrow, let us know how it’s going,” John said as he made his way carefully towards the door. “Wait- your people are outside, aren’t they?”  
“Yeah.”  
“We probably don’t want them to see us carrying out a child that wasn’t here previously?”  
“No, probably not,” Greg agreed.  
“Is there a back door to this place?”  
“Yeah, but it’s far away from any major streets where you could catch a cab.”  
“That’s fine. Just tell everyone Sherlock dashed out the back door and I followed merrily along,” John smirked.  
“Okay, but what’s actually going to happen?”  
“Sherlock, grab my arm and hold on tight, yeah?”  
Sherlock did as told, looking confused and intrigued. With a wink, John took a step forward and all three of them blinked out of existence.   
“Definitely going to be drinking tonight,” Greg mumbled, turning to get his crew back into the flat.


	2. Getting settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock settle Liz into their life at 221, and they get a not-totally-unexpected visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm going to try to do weekly updates, so please stay tuned!

Sherlock staggered forward a few feet once he had solid land under him again. He braced himself again the back of John’s chair for a moment before running into the bathroom. John could hear him being sick as he lay Liz down on the sofa, tucking an afghan around her. She stirred as she was shuffled.   
“Liz, I didn’t get to properly ask you earlier. Are you hurt?”  
She paused a moment before shrugging. John, figuring he wasn’t going to get much more from her, tucked the afghan tighter around her.  
“Alright, well try to get some sleep, then.”  
She obediently closed her eyes, falling into a deep sleep.   
Sherlock stumbled out of the bathroom a moment later, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.   
“Sorry about that, love,” John said, wincing as he looked up at Sherlock. He went and sat in his chair.   
“What the hell was that?”  
“Apparition,” John responded. “Essentially teleportation, I suppose.”  
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never had the opportunity to experience it. I don’t know that I’m eager to repeat it.”   
“Wait, you’ve heard of it? Where?” John watched Sherlock as he gingerly sat in his own chair.  
“Mycroft is a wizard,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. “You probably crossed over at Hogwarts for a few years.”  
“Possibly,” John answered. “But you’re not?”  
“No. He was an anomaly in the family. My grandmother was a witch, but it doesn’t seem a consistent trait that is passed down in my family.”   
“Interesting,” John said. A whole new dimension to the brother’s relationship had just revealed itself.   
“And Harry? Is she a witch?”  
“No, she’s what we call a squib. Me and my parents all have magic, but it skipped her.”  
“Hence your tense relationship.”  
“Right,” John agreed uneasily. “Among other things.”  
“And you’re a doctor for non-magic people?”  
“Part-time. St. Mungo’s, the wizarding hospital, is attached to Bart’s. When I graduated, I went to Muggle University, but I also took Healer classes, sort of a combined program. It allows me to work at both Bart’s and Mungo’s. I end up splitting my shifts about 50/50.”   
“And you never told me, your partner. Why?”  
“Because technically I’m not supposed to tell you. I’m not supposed to tell any Muggles. And I thought if you didn’t figure it out, why would you need to know? I would’ve told you before we got married.” John grinned at Sherlock. “Not that that was a proposal.” He sobered up. “Actually, we’ll probably get a visit from the Ministry tonight or tomorrow.” John did not look too pleased to come to that conclusion. “They’ll probably wipe Greg’s memories.”  
“As I said earlier, Mycroft will take care of it. He holds a position in the British Governments. All of them.”  
John let that sink in for a moment. “What are we going to do about her?” he asked, looking over at Liz on the sofa.   
“I don’t know,” Sherlock sighed. “But as of right now, it seems like we’ll be taking care of a young, vulnerable child. You should probably get some rest. It’s been a long day.”   
“You should come to bed, too.”  
“I’m not tired. I’ll stay here in case she needs help.”  
“You sure you’re up for that?” John asked skeptically.  
“Please, John, have a little faith.”  
“I do, I do. Come get me if there’s anything at all, alright?” John kissed Sherlock on the top of the head.  
“Yes, alright. Goodnight.”  
“Night, Sherlock.” John slowly made his way up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

John tossed and turned for hours until finally falling into a fitful sleep. When he woke, the weak light of morning was shining through the curtains. John rolled over and looked at the clock. Neon numbers blinked 6:30 back at him. He sighed and rolled out of bed, throwing on a robe and heading straight downstairs.   
He was greeted with the sight of Sherlock on the sofa, Liz wrapped tightly in a blanket and curled up on his lap. He had a book in one hand and the other was wrapped protectively around Liz. She was fast asleep, nose buried in his chest and breath coming out in even puffs.   
“Morning,” John greeted softly.   
“Good morning,” Sherlock greeted quietly, looking down to make sure Liz was still asleep. “She woke up around two this morning. She started crying so I swaddled her and cradled her until she fell back asleep.”  
“And she let you?”  
“Apparently you made an impression on her last night and, by extension, I did too.” Sherlock shrugged. “I have a sneaking suspicion ours is one of the few kindnesses she’s seen in her young life.”   
John sighed and nodded. “I thought the same.” He looked to the kitchen. “Tea?”  
“Please.” Sherlock went back to his book while John moved into the kitchen.   
A few minutes later, John stuck his head out of the doorway. “Swaddled?”  
“What of it?”  
“It’s just something that you do with a baby, not a child. Where’d you learn that?”  
Sherlock tilted his book so that John could see the cover.  
“What To Expect? Where’d you get that?”   
“Needed it for a case once. Never got around to throwing it out.”  
“Right.” John retreated back into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. He set them down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Do you have anything on how to deal with older children?”  
“I was going to look to the internet next,” Sherlock admitted.   
“Probably not a bad idea,” John agreed. He stood to fetch his laptop from the desk. When he returned, he noticed that Liz’s eyes were half open.   
He sat back down, opening his laptop but keeping one eye on Liz. He watched her wake fully, open and closing her eyes before sitting up and sliding off Sherlock’s lap. She kept the blanket wrapped around her.   
“Good morning, Liz.”  
She looked down at her feet silently.   
“Are you hungry?”  
Liz shrugged.   
“I’m going to go make some toast. Will you be okay here with Sherlock for a few minutes?”  
Liz nodded mutely, crossing her legs on the sofa.  
“Do you need to use the washroom?” John asked her before leaving. She shook her head.  
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  
After John left, Liz shifted so that she was curled up on the opposite end of the sofa from Sherlock. He reached out and plucked John’s laptop from the coffee table, shifting it so that Liz wouldn’t be able to see it. He typed in “signs of child abuse” and started navigating through all the different websites.   
John came back in and placed a plate of plain toast in front of Liz and a plate with jam on toast in front of Sherlock. He put his own plate on the table leaned forward, picking a wedge of toast and popping it in his mouth.   
“You should eat,” he said to the room in general, leaning over to pick up Sherlock’s discarded book. He flipped absently through it, noticing that Sherlock had folded and highlighted a few pages.   
When he next looked up, Liz’s plate was clean and Sherlock’s was half gone. John smiled softly and finished off his own toast.   
When he was done, John pulled out his wand and waved it, prompting his and Liz’s empty plates to float up and into the kitchen. Liz’s eyes grew wide as she watched it happen.   
“Were you hoping it was just a dream?”  
Liz nodded hesitantly, eyes fixed to his wand.   
“Having magic isn’t all that bad,” John tried to appease her. He put his wand back in the pocket of his dressing robe and followed the dishes into the kitchen.   
“When we were little, Mycroft flew into a tree,” Sherlock said absently, eyes still glued to the computer screen. “He was being chased by a dog and got so scared that instead of climbing, he flew into a tree. Mummy had a fit.”  
A giggle escaped through Liz’s and Sherlock couldn’t decide who looked more surprised, him or Liz.   
A loud whoosh interrupted them and a bright flash came from the fireplace. Liz scrambled off the sofa and ran to the opposite corner of the room. Sherlock stood slowly, watching as a woman stepped from the fireplace. He moved so that he was between Liz and the fireplace.   
“Mr. Holmes,” the woman greeted. She had frizzy brown hair and was wearing a pair of plain black robes. “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m here to talk to you and John.”  
“How do you know my name?”  
“I’m acquainted with your brother.”  
“My condolences.”  
John came rushing in from the kitchen at that moment, wand drawn.   
“Hello, John,” Hermione greeted.  
“Hermione, it’s been a while.” John put down his wand and moved forward, giving her a one-armed hug. “Are you still in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”  
“I’ve just been appointed Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, actually. You’re still at St. Mungo’s?”  
“Yeah, I’m working at both Bart’s and Mungo’s.”  
“Right, you helped pilot that program. I’m glad to hear it worked out.”  
They were interrupted when a small hand tugged on the back of John’s dressing robe. John looked back to see Liz, one thumb tucked into her mouth and the other hand wrapped in the fabric of his dressing gown.  
“Hey, Liz,” he said gently.   
Hermione looked sad. “Hi Liz,” she echoed, kneeling down so that she was at eye-level with her. “My name’s Hermione and I’m here to help you.”  
Liz stared doe-eyed at Hermione, her hand still firmly tangled in John’s gown.   
“How much do you know about magic?” she asked, looking up to John when she got no answer.   
“Liz, would you go to the kitchen for me?”  
She frantically shook her head and her hand tightened. John bit his lip but didn’t argue.   
“She just found out about magic yesterday.”  
Hermione nodded as if expecting that answer.   
“Mycroft passed us the police files. We’re taking over the investigation.”  
“What can we help you with?” John put his arm protectively around Liz’s shoulders.   
“I just have a few questions for Liz, and then we’ll figure out what will happen next. “   
“Let’s sit down.” John walked over to the sofa, arm still around Liz. They sat down, Liz in the middle of the sofa. Sherlock paused at his chair before moving to sit on the other side of Liz. Hermione took John’s chair, turning it so that she could face them.   
“Liz, can you tell me what happened last night?”   
Liz sat silently, hands fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt.   
“Liz, we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what happened. You won’t be in trouble, I promise.” A long moment of silence passed before Liz’s small voice filled the room.  
“Mummy hit me.” She placed a hand flat on her ribs. “It hurt a lot. I screamed. And then she was in the air.”  
“And then you went and hid in the closet?” John asked.   
Liz nodded.   
“Didn’t mean to,” she whispered, seeming to shrink into herself.   
“We know,” Hermione said gently. “Nobody’s blaming you. Did you know you had magic before that?”  
Liz shook her head.   
“Liz, I know this may be hard, but I need you to answer. Did your mummy hit you because of things you couldn’t control?”  
Liz shrugged.   
“Did she hit you when you made lights over your bed? Or when you made a toy fly?”  
Tears started coursing down Liz’s cheeks as she nodded weakly. John wrapped an arm around Liz and pulled her close. Sherlock looked on for a moment before awkwardly patting her back.   
“Is there anything else that can’t wait for a bit? I think we need to take a break,” Sherlock said.  
“No the situation is pretty self-explanatory. Clearly it was an accident and no repercussions will be implemented. I’d suggest Liz see a psychologist. We’re lucky she didn’t become an Obscurial, and we need to take steps to ensure it doesn’t happen.” Hermione looked at John gravely for a moment, making sure he understood the severity of the situation. “We’ll take care of everything else on the Magic and Muggle side.” She scrutinized them for a minute. “This is a lot for you two to take on,” she said carefully. “I just want to make sure you understand, as of right now we are not looking for alternative arrangements in terms of Liz’s guardianship.”   
“Good,” John said resolutely, hands tightening around Liz. Sherlock nodded in agreement.   
Hermione paused for a moment before pulling out a small card. “My mobile number. I’ve got a daughter, she’s about Liz’s age. Maybe, if she’s feeling up to it, we could all get together sometime.”  
“So we’ll get legal custody of her, then?” Sherlock asked, taking the card and pocketing it.  
“It will be on a temporary basis at first but, if all goes well, we will see about making it more permanent. For right now, I think it’s best you both help Liz to heal.”   
“Thanks, Hermione,” John said, looking down at Liz as she pulled slightly away. “Did you hear that, Liz? You get to stay with us. Is that okay?”  
Liz nodded, a small smile quirking her lips for the first time.   
“We’re very happy you’ll be with us.”  
“Yes, quite.”   
Hermione stood. “I have to get back to the office. We’ll be in touch. John it was nice to see you, Sherlock, nice to meet you and Liz, I hope you feel better.” With that, Hermione walked over to the fireplace and pulled a small pouch out of her bag. She took a pinch of Floo Powder out of the bag and stepped into the fireplace. In a rush of bright light and a muffled “Ministry”, she was gone.   
The silence in the flat was broken only by Liz’s small sniffles as she wiped at her tear-stained cheeks.   
“Liz, do you remember last night when I asked you if you were hurt?” Liz nodded. “And you shrugged, which I thought meant that you weren’t hurt.”  
“Wasn’t.”  
“But you said your Mummy hurt you last night.”  
“Not more hurt that usual.”  
John fought against the despair he felt for the thin pile of bones sitting beside him.  
“Do you mind if I take a look? I’m a doctor.”  
Liz hesitated before nodding, pulling away completely from John.   
“Do you mind if I take off your shirt?”  
Liz shook her head.  
“Okay, arms up.” John slid the shirt off and carefully put it to the side. “Where did your Mummy hit you?”   
Liz pointed to her ribs, where a large dark bruise was forming. John winced in sympathy and gently ran his hands over the bruise. He kept his touch light as he felt around the area.   
“I think your rib is fractured. Do you mind if I use magic to heal it?”  
Liz looked apprehensive.  
“I don’t have to, but it will help it heal faster.”  
“You can hold my hand while he does it,” Sherlock offered.   
Liz nodded after a moment of hesitation, reaching over and grasping Sherlock’s hand in hers.   
John pulled out his wand and held it out, pointing it at the bruise. “Brackium Emendo,” he said, watching Liz’s face. She frowned at the white glow emanating from his wand, and there was a moment of tightness on her face before she relaxed. “Better?” John asked as the light faded. Liz nodded. “Good. Now, how do we feel about a lunch?”


	3. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John take Liz to therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a therapist. This may not be an accurate depiction of therapy, but I tried my best.

The rest of the day passed quietly. A few different outfits arrived in the afternoon, courtesy of Mycroft. Sherlock and John set up the unused upstairs bedroom for Liz. They assured her that she could come and get them at any time during the night, and they all went to bed.   
John woke early the next morning and went out to the sitting room. His heart nearly stopped when he saw a dark figure hunched over on the sofa. He pulled out his wand, crossing silently around so that he was in front of the sofa. He put down his wand when he saw that it was Liz, wrapped in the afghan and looking at John with bright eyes.  
“How long have you been up?” John asked, pocketing his wand.   
Liz shrugged, burrowing deeper into the afghan.   
“You could’ve come and gotten one of us.”  
“Sorry,” Liz whispered, looking away.  
“No need to apologize, just want you to know you don’t need to worry about bothering us.” John didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and headed for the kitchen. “Want to keep me company?”  
Liz quietly slipped off the sofa and followed John into the kitchen, afghan still wrapped around her shoulders. She slipped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, feet swinging in the air.   
“Did you manage to get any sleep?”  
Liz nodded.   
“Do you feel like anything particular this morning?”  
Liz shook her head.   
“You know you’re allowed to talk, right?”  
Liz nodded.  
“But of course you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Do you like scrambled eggs and toast?”  
Liz nodded.   
“Perfect.” John worked in silence for a while, puttering away in the kitchen. He made sure to keep his wand put away; although Liz was beginning to be comfortable around magic, he didn’t want to spook her any more than she already had been. “Do you want to help me?”   
Liz nodded.   
John took four pieces of toast from the toaster and put two more pieces of bread in. “Can you butter these for me?” John put a butter knife and the butter beside her at the kitchen table. Liz picked up the knife and got to work, lathering more butter onto the toast than strictly necessary. John watched as she meticulously gathered butter onto the knife and then spread it across the pieces of toast. John turned back to the eggs, running his spatula through them a couple times before scooping them all onto a plate. He put three plates onto the table and the plate of eggs.   
“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go grab Sherlock,” John said. He went into their bedroom and was greeted with the sight of Sherlock, robe on and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hey, love,” he whispered, walking to the edge of the bed and standing between Sherlock’s legs. He cupped his face in his hands. “Still waking up?”  
“Hm.” Sherlock tipped his face up, eyes closed. This was one of John’s favourite moments, when Sherlock had gotten a good night’s sleep and was still slogging his way into wakefulness. John kissed him gently on the lips.   
“Come on, it’s time for breakfast.”  
Sherlock sighed and rested his head on John’s sternum for a moment before surging up off the bed.   
“Okay.”  
They walked hand in hand to the kitchen. When they got there, they saw Liz patiently waiting for them at the kitchen table, the three plates set in front of each chair.   
“Looks good,” Sherlock said as he sat down, taking a piece of toast and a spoonful of scrambled eggs.   
“Liz helped with the toast,” John said, grinning at her.   
“And it is delicious,” Sherlock answered solemnly, biting enthusiastically into his toast.   
Liz looked a little uncomfortable and a blush marred her cheeks as she ducked her head. Staring at her plate, she shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth.   
They ate in silence for a few minutes until their plates were mostly empty.   
“So Liz, today we have an appointment with a psychologist.”   
John had received a text message last night from Mycroft that read “8:00 a.m. Dr. Clark Witter. Wizard and PhD.”   
Liz looked up at them with wide eyes.   
“Don’t worry, we’ll be there with you the entire time, and you won’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”  
Liz looked down, playing with the bits of scrambled egg left on her plate.   
“Are you done eating?” John asked jovially, trying to distract her.   
Liz nodded morosely.   
“How about you go get changed? Do you want Sherlock to help you?”  
Liz regarded Sherlock for a moment before nodding.   
“Up you both get, then. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”   
Liz stood and walked up the stairs, Sherlock following close behind. The Afghan lay forgotten on the kitchen chair. Once they were done, John pulled out his wand and got the dishes washing. While they took care of themselves, John went into their bedroom to get changed for the day.   
When John emerged from the bedroom, he saw Sherlock and Liz sitting on the sofa in the living room, telly on some type of cartoon.   
“Sherlock, do you want to go get changed?”  
“Yes, of course.” Sherlock stood and as he passed John, he squeezed his hand. John took Sherlock’s place on the sofa, slinging his arm around the back. There was a bright pink cartoon pig on the screen.   
“Who’s this?” John asked.  
“Peppa,” Liz answered quietly.  
“Do you watch a lot of Peppa?” John asked.  
Liz shook her head.   
“Well that’s okay, different people like different things. Do you watch much telly?”  
Liz shook her head again. John stopped asking questions, turning back towards the telly. They watched for a few more minutes until Sherlock swanned into the living room, clad in his typical collared shirt and dress pants.   
“Ready to go?” John asked him.  
“Yes,” Sherlock responded, grabbing his coat and scarf. John stood and made sure Liz got off the sofa before going and grabbing their coats off the hook by the door. He handed Liz’s to Sherlock to help her put it on.   
As soon as they had stepped foot outside of the apartment, there was a black car pulling up to the curb. Sherlock opened the back door and John got in first, Liz slid in after and Sherlock got in last, closing the door.   
“You know where to go?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes sir,” the driver answered. They pulled away from the curb and into the light traffic. It was before rush hour so the roads were relatively clear. In no time they pulled up to a plain brownstone building.   
“Up we go,” John said, taking Liz’s hand and leading her into the building, Sherlock trailing behind. They entered the building and went up to the second floor.   
When they reached the door marked “Dr. Clark Witter, PhD”, John stopped and looked down at Liz.   
“We’re here to help you, alright Liz?”   
She nodded furtively.   
“If there’s anything you don’t want to talk about, you don’t have to,” Sherlock continued from her other side.   
She nodded again.   
Sherlock reached over and opened the door, holding it for John and Liz.   
They walked into a small, cozy waiting room with several cushy chairs gathered around a low table. There was a front desk with an elderly receptionist sitting behind it. She looked up when they entered, smiling gently.   
“Hi, I believe we’re scheduled under the name Holmes?”  
“Yes, you can head on back. Dr. Witter is expecting you.”  
“Thank you,” John said, leading the way down the hall, Liz’s hand firmly in his.   
They walked into a small room with warm yellow walls, cushiony beige chairs, a sofa, and a desk in the corner, behind which sat an older gentleman in a fuzzy jumper with spectacles perched on the edge of his nose.   
“Hello, you must be Holmes,” he said, standing and rounding the desk to shake hands with all three of them.  
“I am,” Sherlock responded. “This is John Watson and Liz, our current young charge.”  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Shall we all sit down?” He motioned to the sofa and moved to sit in the chair facing it. The other three filed onto the sofa, John and Sherlock once more bracketing Liz.  
“So, Liz has only recently moved in with you both, is that correct?”  
“Yeah, about a day ago,” John answered.   
“And do you like it at John and Sherlock’s?” Dr. Witter asked.  
Liz nodded, eyes downcast.  
“What’s your favourite part of staying with them?” He prompted.  
Liz shrugged, but then replied. “Eggs and toast.”  
John smiled gently and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  
“Hugs,” she added after a moment, glancing up briefly at John before looking away.   
“That’s good. Did you eat a lot of eggs and toast before you moved in with them?”  
Liz shook her head.   
“Do you have a favourite food?”  
Liz shook her head again.   
“Can you tell me a little bit about yourself, Liz?” Dr. Witter asked.   
Liz shrugged.  
“How old are you?”  
“Four,” she whispered.   
“And do you have a favourite colour?”  
Liz shrugged again. Dr. Witter looked at her for a moment before standing and crossing to his desk.   
“Do you like to draw, Liz?”  
Liz just looked at him, so he reached down and opened a drawer. He pulled out a box of crayons and a stack of paper and brought it over to the low table separating the chair from the sofa. He nudged them towards Liz, but otherwise didn’t say anything.   
“John, you’re a wizard, correct?” Dr. Witter asked.   
“Yes,” John answered, pulling the paper closer and picking up a crayon. He idly started doodling little animals. Sherlock followed John’s example and picked up another crayon, taking his own paper and beginning to doodle.   
“And Liz, you may have magic as well?”  
Liz managed to shrug and nod at the same time.   
“How do you feel about that?”  
Liz shrugged again, picking up a crayon and aimlessly scribbling on a page in front of her.   
“Does it scare you?”  
Liz concentrated on her paper, not answering the question.   
“John, how did you feel when you first discovered you had magic?”  
“Excited, thrilled,” John answered easily. “But I was raised in a magic household.”  
“And Sherlock? How did you feel when you found out your brother had magic?”  
“I didn’t believe it at first,” Sherlock answered, still focused on his own paper. “I mean, magic, really? But then I saw Mycroft do a little bit and I realized it must be true. Then I was, I hate to admit, a little jealous. But I got over that, especially when I saw how his magic could help me,” Sherlock smirked.  
“Sherlock,” John admonished gently.   
“Of course, magic is a good thing,” Sherlock clarified.   
Liz picked up a different crayon and scribbled some more on her paper.   
“Do you have any friends, Liz?” Dr. Witter asked, changing the subject.   
Liz hesitated before shaking her head.   
“Did you get to go outside much?”  
Liz shook her head easily this time.   
“Do you have an activity you like to do?”  
Liz took a long pause. “Reading?” she said hesitantly.  
“Did you have a favourite book?”  
“Paddington.”  
“Yes, he’s fun.” Dr. Witter looked at his watch. “Liz, would you mind going out in the waiting room with Maisie for a minute?”  
Liz’s eyes widened and she dropped the crayon she was holding, reaching out to grab both John and Sherlock.   
John looked down at her hand wound in the fabric of his trousers.   
“Liz, why don’t you and I go talk to Maisie, and John will stay in here with Dr. Witter for a few minutes. Does that sound okay?”  
Liz hesitated for a moment, looking seriously at John.  
“I promise I will be out within ten minutes, alright?”  
Liz stared at him for a few more moments before reluctantly letting go.   
Sherlock unwound Liz’s hand from his coat and took it in his hand instead.   
They left the room and the door clicked shut behind them.   
“How are you feeling, Dr. Watson?” Dr. Witter asked quietly.   
“Honestly? A little worried we won’t be able to help Liz the way she needs. And a little overwhelmed. Everything’s moving so quickly. I’m worried we may have taken on more than we an handle.”  
“On the contrary, I have every faith you will both be exactly what she needs. You’ll be able to show her that magic isn’t a bad thing, for one.”  
“Right,” he said, not sounding too convinced.   
“And you’ve got Sherlock to help you, too.”  
“Yes, I have every faith he’ll be good with her. He seems more committed than I dared hope.”  
“So it’s not him you’re worried about?” Dr. Witter asked, eyeing John intensely.   
“No, but it’s not me either. Not specifically. I’m just sort of a… general worried.”  
“That’s natural in any big change in one’s life,” Dr. Witter agreed readily. “But you’ve got a great support system in place, and I’m only an owl or phone call away.”   
“True.” John nodded and ran his hand restlessly through his hair before standing and holding out his hand. “Well, I’d best get back to them. Thank you, Dr. Witter.”  
As John was turning to leave, Dr. Witter interrupted him.   
“John, have you thought about putting her in Muggle school or daycare?”  
He turned back. “I haven’t had much time to think about anything,” John admitted. “But it’s something we’ll consider. She’s too young for school, but daycare may be an option to get her to socialize. Would putting her in a Muggle daycare be safe?”  
“I know a few people who have done it, with only a few accidents, but let me see if there’s a particular daycare I can find. I’d also suggest trying to get her to talk to you. She seems to trust you already, maybe she’ll talk to you more than she’ll talk to me.”  
“Right, I’ll see what I can do,” John said, and with a last nod, he slipped out the door and into the waiting room.   
Liz was sitting beside Sherlock in the waiting room, listening silently to the secretary who had come to perch on a chair across from them. She was talking, and didn’t seem bothered that neither of the room’s occupants were interested. She smiled at John as he entered.   
“Ready to go?” he asked them.   
Sherlock nodded almost as emphatically as Liz.   
“Ta,” John said kindly to the receptionist, taking Liz’s hand and leading both of them out of the building and down to the car below.   
The ride home was quiet, Liz watching the world pass from behind the pane of glass.   
When they made it back to Baker Street, John paid the cabbie and they all climbed out and up the stairs. John was helping Liz out of her coat when there was a call from downstairs.   
“Boys, is that you?” Sherlock looked at John, slight panic in his eyes.   
“What are we going to tell her?” John whispered to him. “Does she know about magic?”  
“No,” Sherlock whispered back, moving so he was on Liz’s other side. They could hear Mrs. Hudson’s steady tread on the stairs.   
“NSPCC wasn’t available to take her, so we offered to keep her for a couple days,” John answered quickly. Liz’s eyes darted back and forth between them. John looked down and smiled at her. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly. He finished getting her out of her coat and hung it up just as Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door.   
“Yoo hoo,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the door before creaking it open. “Boys?”  
“Hi, Mrs. Hudson,” John greeted, wrapping his arm around Liz’s shoulder. “Sorry we haven’t come down to visit, we’ve been a bit busy.”  
“And who’s this?” she asked, smiling at Liz.   
“This is Liz,” John said, smiling down at her. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”  
“Oh?”  
“She was… found at a crime scene we were working on. NSPCC wasn’t available to take her, so we offered to look after her.”   
“That was very generous of you,” Mrs. Hudson answered. “You’re in good hands,” she said, turning her attention to Liz. “Can I bring you boys up some biscuits?”  
“That would be great, Mrs. H, ta,” John answered. She bustled back downstairs and John ushered Liz further into the flat motioning her towards the sofa. “I’m just going to put the kettle on, I’ll be right back,” he told her. She nodded and looked over at Sherlock.   
“Telly?” Sherlock asked, picking up the remote and turning it onto a children’s program. Liz nodded, burrowing further into the sofa and drawing her knees up, resting her chin on them.   
Mrs. Hudson and John re-entered the living room at around the same time, armed with tea and biscuits. They all sat and chatted, Mrs. Hudson telling Sherlock and John all the gossip she had garnered from her weekly bridge meet. Liz sat quietly, nibbling on a chocolate biscuit. 

“Well, I’ll leave you all to it,” Mrs. Hudson said a while later, standing and making her way slowly back down the stairs.   
“Is there anything you’d like to do, Liz?” John asked.  
Liz shrugged and shook her head.  
“What did you do with your Mummy during the days? Is there anything fun you like to do?”  
Liz shook her head.   
“Nothing at all? Did you just sit and stare at the wall all day?” John asked teasingly.   
Her shoulders hunched and she seemed to shrink in on herself. John sensed her reluctance, but felt now was a good time to try to talk to her.   
“Liz,” he said gently, “look at me.” She shook her head, shoulders hunching further upwards.   
John sighed, heaving himself off the sofa and onto the floor, where he knelt in front of Liz. When he got a look at her face, he noticed that tears were running down her face.   
“Oh, Liz,” John sighed, giving up for the moment. He reached forward and cradled her to his chest, sitting so that she was curled up in his lap. “It was a tough morning, I know.”  
She cried for a few more minutes before her breathing evened out and she fell asleep, still curled on John’s lap.   
Sherlock, who had been watching quietly from the other side of the sofa, reached forward and rubbed a hand soothingly down her back.   
“Did you want to try and get her lying down?” He asked quietly.   
“No, I’ll just hold her for right now,” John answered back, wrapping his arms more firmly around her.   
“Tea?” Sherlock asked once he realized they would be there for a while.   
“Please,” John said. Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen and John looked down, watching Liz’s face. In sleep, she seemed so much more peaceful and John felt sorrow over the stress that someone so young had already endured. He gently brushed back hair from her forehead, looking up when Sherlock re-entered the living room. He took his mug with a grateful smile, taking a sip before leaning forward and putting his mug on the coffee table. They sat in silence, Sherlock retreating into his mind palace and John enjoying the peace and quiet.   
The quiet didn’t last long, however, when Liz started moaning, her brow furrowed. Her head shook minutely from one side to the other, and her mouth formed a sad little moue. Her breathing picked up and soon her moans turned to louder whimpers. A steady course of tears started streaming down her face as if a faucet had been turned on, and she started sobbing and blindly pushing at John’s arms.   
“Liz?” John said, slightly alarmed. He loosened his hold on Liz, but didn’t let go completely. “Liz, wake up!”  
Sherlock opened his eyes and cut them towards John, quickly taking in the situation. He knelt down on the floor facing them, hands hovering uncertainly in the air. John rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Liz’s arm, hoping to gently coax her awake. She continued to sob, hands and legs kicking out.   
“Whoa!” Sherlock yelped as she slipped out of John’s grasp. If not for Sherlock, she would have fallen to the floor. As it was, her legs flopped to the floor while her body landed in Sherlock’s lap.   
“No, Mummy!” she cried, legs curling up towards herself. “I be good, I be good!” she sobbed and reached out, batting at something unseen. “I good,” she repeated over and over between sobs.   
“Liz, wake up,” John tried again helplessly.   
“Liz, this is Sherlock. You are safe here with John and I. It is afternoon. You just ate a chocolate biscuit. Everything is okay. But you must wake up. I’m Sherlock, and this is John, and you are safe here in our flat.” He kept reiterating the same information as Liz slowly woke up, her hand reaching out to grasp onto Sherlock’s shirt as she sobbed herself into wakefulness.   
“Hey, Liz, you’re okay, you’re good,” John said reassuringly from beside her.   
“I… bad…” she said from in between sobs.   
“No, Liz, you’re not. You’re so good.” Sherlock rocked her gently until her sobs turned into two slowing tear streams.  
“Liz, why do you think you’re bad?” John asked her when she seemed to be calming.   
“Mummy said,” she answered between hiccups.   
“She was wrong,” John said confidently. “You are very good.”  
“I threw a vase,” Liz whispered, softly, the odd hiccup piercing her words. “Mummy put me in the closet for two days. I too loud. I eat too much. I not smart. I make things happen then Mummy gets angry.” She paused for a moment, hands tightening in Sherlock’s shirt as a sob broke through. “I hurt Mummy. I bad.”  
“You were just protecting yourself,” John reassured her, voice tight. He was trying to remain calm through the red haze that had descended. “You are not bad. You are very, very good.”  
“She throwed a picture frame at me. After I made the pictures move. Whenever there was lights in my bed, she put me in the closet.”  
John and Sherlock wore matching pinched expressions, and John saw his anguish and anger reflected in Sherlock’s eyes. Everything was starting to make sense.   
“Where’d you get the bruises?” Sherlock asked quietly, running his fingers gently down one on her arm.   
“Mummy hit me when I was bad,” Liz said. “She got real angry.”  
“You’re safe with us now,” John reassured her once more. “We promise, we’ll take care of you, alright?”  
Liz nodded quietly, seemingly emotionally spent.   
“If I…” Liz started, voice cracking.  
“What is it?” Sherlock asked gently.  
“…break something?” she asked uncertainly.  
“Then we’ll fix it with a spell, or we’ll replace it,” John relied easily. “Everyone makes mistakes. Just last week, I broke a glass.”  
“You did?” Sherlock asked, frowning.  
“Mmm, fixed it before you could notice,” John smiled at him.   
“Ah, magic is handy,” Sherlock said thoughtfully.   
“Sometimes, yes,” John agreed. They sat in silence for a moment, Liz sucking back tears. “I think cocoa is in order,” John said after a moment. “Sherlock, why don’t we move the both of you up here and I’ll get us all some cocoa.”  
“Yes, that sounds like just the thing,” Sherlock said, making sure he had a firm grip on Liz before standing and pivoting so he was sitting on the sofa, Liz sitting sideways in his lap. “Marshmallows?”  
“I’ll see what I can do,” John left them to it, moving into the kitchen to the sound of Sherlock murmuring quietly to Liz. He waved his wand, summoning three mugs and spooning cocoa mix into them. He poured milk into all three mugs and waved his wand over them, bringing the mugs gently to a boil. He dropped three marshmallows into each mug. Then, he levitated the mugs and directed them into the sitting room. Liz eyed them warily when they floated into the room, but accepted the one that stopped directly in front of her.  
“Now you’re just showing off,” Sherlock murmured into his mug, shooting a small grin at John.  
“I must admit, having the chance to use my magic outside of work is quite exciting.”  
Sherlock chuckled softly as he took another mouthful of cocoa, letting a marshmallow bump gently against his lips.   
Liz was quietly sitting in Sherlock’s lap, mug cradled between her two hands as she steadily drank the cocoa.   
“Feeling any better?” John asked her gently, going to sit beside them on the sofa.  
Liz nodded, burrowing closer into Sherlock.  
“Cocoa is always the answer,” Sherlock said sagely. “Or sugar in general.”  
“No wonder you never eat,” John grumbled.   
“Vegetables are boring,” Sherlock shrugged. John decided not to comment, taking another sip of his cocoa instead. “Washroom,” Sherlock grunted a few minutes later, leaning forward to put his mug on the low table. He moved to shift Liz off his lap, and she dropped her mug in order to wrap her hands in Sherlock’s shirt. The mug fell to the ground with a shatter and a crash, the rest of her cocoa spilling out. They all stared at the mug on the ground for a moment before Liz’s lower lip stuck out and she scrambled away from Sherlock and into the corner of the sofa.   
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she said, hands fisting into the cushions on either side of her.   
“It’s alright,” John hastened to reassure her, quickly pulling out his wand and pointing it at the mug. “Reparo,” he said, and the mug pieces sealed themselves back together. “Tergeo,” he said, siphoning up the remaining cocoa. “See? All better,” he said soothingly, holding a hand out placatingly to Liz while putting his wand on the coffee table. “It’s okay. We won’t hurt you.”   
Liz looked unevenly between John and Sherlock before scrambling to throw herself at John.  
“I’m sorry Liz,” Sherlock said softly, putting his hand on her back. “I should have warned you. That was my fault.”  
Liz just nodded, nose buried in John’s neck. Sherlock stayed a moment more before going to the bathroom. When he returned, Liz was bundled in a blanket, and the telly was set at a low volume.   
“We’ll have to find things that you like besides the telly,” John said softly to her. “We can’t let your brain rot. Do you like colouring?”  
Liz shrugged.   
“We’ll go shopping soon and get a whole bunch of things to try. Does that sound like fun?”  
Liz nodded hesitantly, turning back to the telly. She stuck her thumb into her mouth and leaned back into John, relaxing. Sherlock sat beside them, arm reaching out so that it was extended across the back of the sofa. They stayed like that all afternoon, Liz always holding on to one of them.


	4. Daycare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz tries daycare. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a little late, I had a friend visiting this week.

It was a week and a half later when John and Sherlock broached the idea of daycare. They had talked about it a few days before, after a session with Dr. Witter. Although he had been unable to find a wizard daycare, he had found several Muggle ones that other wizard families had used. John researched them and found that one was relatively close to the flat. Although Liz was still relatively non-verbal, her nightmares and panic attacks had lessened, and she was able to go for several hours without touching one of them. They had discovered through trial and error that she enjoyed colouring, wasn’t fond of cards but really enjoyed board games and reading.  
They found themselves, on that Tuesday morning, standing in front of a brightly coloured building, Liz gripping onto each of their hands.  
“It’ll only be for two hours,” John said soothingly, looking down at Liz. “Sherlock and I will be right around the corner. If you need us, we won’t be far, alright?”  
Liz looked apprehensively up at him.  
“Maybe you’ll make friends,” John said hopefully. Sherlock scoffed.  
“I never did,” he mumbled.  
“Yes, well we’re not all as brilliant as you,” John answered. “Come on, the day’s not getting any younger.” John led the way into the daycare. They were greeted at the door by a young blonde woman with a long braid that went all the way down her back.  
“Hi there!” she said, coming forward. “My name’s Lacey. What’s your name?” she asked, addressing Liz.  
Liz stared dolefully up at her before looking at John expectantly.  
“This is Liz,” John said. “I called a couple of days ago?”  
“Ah yes, we were expecting you. It’s nice to meet you Liz.”  
She nodded, shoulders hunching up around her ears.  
“Would you like to come in? Maybe play with some toys?”  
Liz shook her head, hands tightening around John and Sherlock’s.  
“Come on, Liz, we talked about this,” John said, kneeling down so that he was eye-level with her. “Just two hours, and then we’ll get ice cream on the way home.” Liz, skinny as she was, had a love for all things sugary. Although john knew it wasn’t the healthiest way to get meat back on her bones, he was willing to indulge her.  
Liz bit her bottom lip, looking intensely at John. Sherlock came around so he was facing her as well, kneeling down beside John.  
“You don’t even have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to,” Sherlock said. “We’ll be here right at twelve, alright? We promise.”  
Liz stared at them for a moment more but, seeing to realize she was not going to win, nodded sadly.  
“Now give us a hug,” John said, opening his arms wide. She threw herself into them, wrapping herself tightly around John’s neck. He cradled her head against him for a moment before pulling away. She turned to Sherlock and gave him much the same treatment, arms like a vice around his neck.  
“Be good,” John said, watching them.  
“But not too good,” Sherlock grinned, letting go of her.  
John turned to Lacey. “You’ve got my number, yeah?”  
“We do. We’ll call you if there is any trouble at all.” She reached for Liz’s hand. “Now, how about we go find some toys to play with, hm?”  
Liz looked balefully at them over her shoulder as she was coerced deeper into the daycare. John and Sherlock waved at her before turning and going out the door, walking hand-in-hand to a small café around the corner.  
“Why do I feel like I’ve just given her away forever?” John asked as they waited to order coffee.  
“It’s the first separation we’ve had from her since acquiring her. It’s bound to be strange.”  
John sighed. “I know, it just… sucks.”  
“Quite.”  
They had reached the front of the queue and they ordered their respective drinks, Sherlock pulling out his card and swiping it. They gathered the drinks and moved to a two-person table situated by the window. They were quiet, each absorbed in their own thoughts. They sat, John restlessly checking his phone every five minutes, for about half an hour. Just when Sherlock thought he was going to go crazy and snap the phone in half, it started ringing, and John frantically fumbled with it for a moment before hitting the accept button.  
“Hello?”  
“John?” John recognized Lacey’s voice and, in the background, an unearthly wailing.  
“We’ll be right there,” he said, hanging up. “We’ve got to go.” The two of them abandoned their coffee, sprinting out of the shop.  
“What happened?” Sherlock asked as he huffed behind John.  
“Didn’t ask. Heard crying,” he answered as they pulled up to the front of the daycare. John pushed the door open and stopped dead in his tracks.  
John was floored by the wall of crying he was hit with. It seemed as if every child there was in tears, and some of the teachers as well.  
Liz seemed to be the only one not crying, standing apart from everyone else with wide eyes. She flung herself into John’s arms when they entered, burrowing her face in John’s jumper.  
“It’s okay,” John soothed automatically as Sherlock swanned past him. John could see him taking in every detail, his brow furrowed. “What happened?” he asked to the room in general.  
Lacey shook her head, eyes watery.  
“She started screaming,” an older male worker said, “and it sounded like something from another world. Like the gates to Hell had opened up and all it’s creatures were being let loose.”  
“That’s a bit extreme,” Sherlock mumbled.  
“You weren’t there.” He glared at Sherlock for a moment. “She broke a mirror with her voice. She also threw toys and paints. From across the room.” He pointed to the far wall where smears of paint were slowly dripping down it. There was a small pile of toys where wall met floor.  
All of the adults had calmed down and were calming down the rest of the children. The silence was almost worse, as it seemed as if everyone in the room was listening to them.  
John’s thoughts were interrupted by the jingling of the door behind him, and he turned to see Hermione stepping into the daycare flanked by two other wizards. They were all three dressed in robes, Hermione in a dark purple and the other two in dark green.  
“How did you-?”  
“Mycroft,” Sherlock sneered.  
“Yes,” Hermione agreed, beckoning the two wizards behind her forward. “Memory charms on everyone, fix the mirror and clean up the paint and toys. That should suffice.”  
They both nodded and moved forward, approaching the Muggles with caution.  
“So, Liz, what happened?” Hermione asked, kneeling down so that she was eye-level with her. Liz kept her face tucked in John’s jumper.  
“Liz, come on out,” John coaxed, pulling her slightly away from his midsection. She turned her head so that she was looking at Hermione, but didn’t move to pull away from John.  
“Can you tell me what happened?”  
“Was scared,” Liz whispered. “Left me with toys. Didn’t wanna be alone.” Her lower lip started to tremble again.  
“You’re not alone now,” Hermione said soothingly. “We’re all here to help you. Feeling better?”  
Liz took a shaky breath but nodded.  
“I think you’re probably ready to go home, hm?”  
Liz nodded.  
“Come, let’s go.” Hermione stood up and turned to her colleagues. “Finish up here and we’ll meet back at the office, alright?”  
“Sure,” one of them answered.  
Hermione looked at John and Sherlock. “Good to go?”  
“Yeah,” John answered, picking up Liz and carrying her out the door. Although she had started to put on weight, she was still the size of a large toddler, and was barely a strain on John. Sherlock followed slowly behind, eyes glued to the wizards who were wiping the Muggles memories.  
“Is it hard to do that?” he asked as they exited the building.  
“What, erasing memories? We train very hard in order to be able to perform that spell with the precision and accuracy it requires,” Hermione answered primly.  
“Yes, it’s hard,” John cut in. “She’s just too good at spells to know when one is hard for those of us less intelligent than her.” John threw a teasing smile her way, and Hermione blushed and rolled her eyes.  
“You’re too kind.” Hermione turned and looked up and down the street. “Your apartment is a few blocks away, right?”  
“Yeah, we can walk back.” John took the lead, and he and Hermione chatted the few blocks to Baker Street. When they got in, John put Liz down on the sofa and moved to the kitchen to get tea. He took two steps, and then stopped when he felt little arms wrap around his waist.  
“Did you want to come with me?”  
He felt her nod against the small of his back, and he reached down and unwound her arms from his waist. He turned around, picking her up and continuing into the kitchen. He sat her in one of the chairs by the table.  
“You okay here? I won’t leave your sight.”  
Liz nodded. John set about making tea, listening idly to Sherlock and Hermione chatting in the living room. John loaded the tea onto a tray and prompted the tray to float in front of him so that he could reach out and pick Liz up. They moved into the living room, and John sent the tray to the coffee table while he sat down with Liz on the sofa on his lap.  
“Having a good chat?” John asked. He rarely saw Sherlock genuinely engage with other people.  
“Hermione was telling me the difference between spells and hexes.”  
“Fascinating. You know I have textbooks, right?”  
Sherlock hummed and shrugged.  
“Well, shall we talk about today?” John asked when no other answer was forthcoming.  
“I think it might not be a good idea for Liz to continue attending daycare,” Hermione said without preamble.  
“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Liz, thoughts?”  
“Stay here,” she mumbled, burrowing her face into John’s jumper.  
“Then it’s settled,” John said with finality, tightening his arms around her.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes to Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one has taken a while to get up, my best friend has been in town the whole week so I haven't had time to do anything. ENJOY!

It took Liz another week to stop jumping at every small noise or movements. During that time, John and Sherlock talked to both Dr. Witter and Hermione about socializing Liz in other ways. With Dr. Witter’s approval, they had set up a date to meet Ron, Hermione and Rose in Diagon Alley for an afternoon.   
It was the day before, and the three of them were in the living room, John tapping diligently on his computer while Sherlock and Liz coloured. It was a peaceful quiet in the flat, broken only by the soft murmur of the telly in the background and Sherlock softly teaching Liz the scientific names for the animals they were colouring.   
The silence was broken by a knock on the flat door. John frowned but put his computer aside, heaving himself from his chair and going to open the door. He was met with the sight of Mycroft on the other side, umbrella hung delicately off one arm and a garment bag in his other hand. He smiled cooly at John.  
“Hello John,” he greeted.   
“Hello Mycroft. What brings you here today?”  
John stood his ground. Liz was still nervous around new people, and John was leery of letting him in unannounced.   
“May I?” Mycroft asked, gesturing inside.   
John hesitated for a moment, looking over his shoulder. Liz was looking at him owlishly, hand woven in Sherlock’s sleeve but otherwise calm. Sherlock was sneering at the doorway.   
“Sure.” John moved to the side to allow Mycroft to carefully toe his way inside. He leaned his umbrella on the wall by the door and continued inside, standing in front of the coffee table.   
“Hello brother.”   
John followed behind him. “Liz, this is Mycroft. He’s Sherlock’s brother.”  
Liz nodded, looking at Mycroft.   
“Can you say hi?”  
“Hello,” Liz whispered, hiding her face in Sherlock’s sleeve.   
“No need to be shy, it’s just Mycroft,” Sherlock teased gently. Liz didn’t answer, face still pressed to Sherlock’s sleeve.   
“Would you like tea, Mycroft?”  
“No thank you John, I’m just stopping in to drop these off.” He brandished the garment bag, pushing it towards John.   
“Thank you?” John said, accepting the garment bag and draping it on his chair. Carefully he pulled the zip down, revealing two sets of casual robes, one in black and the other significantly smaller in periwinkle blue. “Oh, thank you!” he said more enthusiastically, grinning over at Sherlock and Liz. “But how did you know we were going to Diagon Alley?”  
“Mrs. Granger and I have been conferring,” Mycroft responded.   
John smiled and rolled his eyes, turning to look at Sherlock and Liz. “Do you want to try them on?”  
John’s excitement was contagious and despite being wary, Sherlock stood and gently tugged Liz with him, walking her over to the chair.   
“That is part of the reason I am here. I’d like to see if they need adjusting,” Mycroft said.   
John reached down and separated the two sets of robes, draping Liz’s over his arm and handing the hanger with the other set to Sherlock.   
“You just pull them over your Muggle clothes. Here,” John opened the blue set of robes, holding them out so that Liz could put her arms in the sleeves. He rested the fabric on her shoulders then he did the small dark blue clasp at the front by the clavicle, tugging gently on the front to straighten them out. “There you go. You look like a beautiful young witch,” he beamed at her, watching as she held out her sleeves in front of her and inspected them. She looked up, a small smile gracing her lips. She rotated back and forth, letting the robes gently swish around her.   
Sherlock, meanwhile was donning his own robes, fastening the gold clasp at his clavicle. “They’ll suffice,” he said, standing straight and brushing invisible lint off the front.   
“Liz, what do you say to Mycroft for bringing robes for you?”  
“Thank you,” she whispered, suddenly shy again.   
“You’re quite welcome. I’m glad to see you are becoming more comfortable with magic.”  
Liz nodded, looking down again at her robes and fisting her hands in the fabric.   
“I think a stop at Madame Malkin’s will be in order,” John said, smiling as he watched her explore her new robes.   
“A good idea, especially if you will be in the wizarding community more often,” Mycroft said with a knowing smirk.  
John hummed, thinking of the few casual robes he had from his uni days and how he may need to stop at Madame Malkin’s himself.   
“Well, since everything is in order, I will be saying my farewells for now,” Mycroft said, interrupting John’s thoughts. He looked at Liz, eyes softening imperceptibly around the edges. “It was nice to meet you, Liz. I’m sure I will be seeing you shortly. Brother, John,” he nodded at each man in turn before turning on his heel and retrieving his umbrella, hooking it over his arm before letting himself quietly out of the flat.   
That night, Liz was reluctant to change out of her robes and into her pajamas. 

The next day, Liz took her time choosing from the meager selection of clothes hung in her closet. She chose a navy blue long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans, and proudly emerged from her bedroom.   
“Ready for your robes?” John asked, standing from his chair. She nodded, holding her arms out behind her and letting John slide the robes on. He quickly fastened the clasp, stepping back and smiling. He could feel a warm glow emanating from his chest, and he looked away before he got too emotional.   
John had donned his robes already, and was just waiting for Sherlock to emerge from the bedroom. It was a few minutes before he came out, black dress shirt and dress pants on under his robes. John gave him a nod before moving towards the fireplace. He pulled a pouch out from his pocket.   
“Alright, so the trick is to say your destination in a clear voice,” he told Sherlock. “I’ll be taking Liz with me, and you’ll follow after.” He handed the pouch to Sherlock, kissing him quickly on the mouth. Then, he took a pinch of powder and threw it in the fire.   
“Ready?” John asked, looking down at Liz. She looked unsure, staring at the flame. “I promise it doesn’t hurt.”   
John backed into the fire, holding his hands out calmly to Liz. She looked furtively at him but, seeing no averse reactions to the fire, she took his hands. He gathered her close, making sure he had a firm grip on her before strongly saying “Diagon Alley!” With a whoosh they were off, the world spinning around them as grates flashed before them. Liz kept her eyes screwed shut, hands gripping John’s tightly.   
The ride was over in a matter of seconds, both of them being spat out into The Leaky Cauldron. John took a few steps so that they were out of the way of the grate and dusted both of them off. He took Liz’s hand and they both waited for Sherlock to emerge, Liz looking around with wide eyes. There were a few other wizards and witches sitting at tables scattered through the room. Liz gaped at the teapot that was levitating its way down the length of a long table, periodically stopping to refill mugs. Her attention was jerked towards the fireplace as Sherlock came stumbling through, coughing and brushing himself off.   
“Oh good, you made it through,” John said, accepting the pouch of Floo powder from Sherlock and slipping it in his pocket. John moved to a larger table, sitting down and pulling Liz down onto the chair beside him.   
Sherlock sat on Liz’s other side. As he did, a young woman came around from behind the bar and approached. “Hello, what can I get you?”  
“Three pumpkin juices, please,” John said without missing a beat.   
“That’ll be sixteen sickles and twenty Knuts,” she said and John dug into his pockets, pulling out another pouch and pulling out a large coin. “Keep the change,” he said, handing it over.  
“That was a Galleon, correct?” Sherlock asked as the waitress walked away.   
“Right,” John confirmed. “It’s 17 Sickles to a Galleon, and 29 Knuts to a Sickle.”  
“Right,” Sherlock said. Three goblets drifted towards them, and John plucked one out of the air, saluting to the barkeep before taking a sip. Liz reached forward with both hands and grabbed one of the goblets. Sherlock picked the remaining one out of the air, carefully taking a sip.   
“Not bad,” he said, putting the mug down.  
“John!”  
John looked over towards the fireplace and saw Hermione stepping out of the fireplace, Rose following quickly behind and Ron bringing up the rear.   
“Hi, Hermione,” he stood and walked over to them, hugging Hermione quickly and giving Ron a handshake. “Ron.”  
“Hey,” Ron wrapped an arm around Rose. “This is Rose.”  
“Hi,” she said shyly, ducking her head.   
“Hi Rose, nice to meet you. Do you guys want to join us?” John gestured to the table where Sherlock and Liz were still seated. Liz was holding Sherlock’s hand and had abandoned her pumpkin juice.   
“Sure,” Hermione answered. They all made their way over to the table. “Hi Liz, it’s nice to see you again,” Hermione said, smiling warmly at Liz as she sat down across from her. Ron sat down beside her, across from John.   
“Hello,” she murmured back, looking shyly up at Hermione.   
“Liz, this is Rose, she’s my daughter. She just turned five.”  
Liz nodded at Hermione, glancing quickly at Rose before looking away.   
“So I was thinking that maybe we could wander down Diagon Alley and stop at anything that grabs the girls’ attention. Then maybe we could grab dinner at the Hog’s Head later.”  
“That sounds like a very good plan,” John said, knocking back his drink. Liz and Sherlock followed suit, drinking their juice quickly. They all stood, Liz taking John and Sherlock’s hands as they left The Leaky Cauldron.  
They walked out to a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds. John pulled out his wand and reached forward, tapping the wall three times with the point. The wall came to life, bricks moving and slotting themselves in place to reveal an archway on to a cobbled street. The street wound down and around and out of sight, bracketed on either side by crooked buildings proclaiming the selling of various wares that Liz had never seen. The Alley was relatively quiet, only a few shoppers wandering up and down the street. To her left, she saw a group of women surrounding a tub filled with what seemed to be various plants. To her right, she saw a shop who’s display window was filled with various cauldrons and gems displayed on velvet cushions. She gravitated towards the window, pulling John and Sherlock behind her. She stood staring in at the shiny jewels, looking to Sherlock to see if he was just as impressed.   
Sherlock was more preoccupied with the cauldrons, humming at a particular glass one the size of a small bowl.  
“Nice, hm?” John asked Liz. She nodded up at him enthusiastically.   
“Look over here,” John said, leading her to the other side of the street, where a window held only one item, a shiny broom. Liz looked up at John, a question in her eyes.  
“It’s not just any broom, it’s a flying broom. This was my favourite store as a child. I played Quidditch all through school.”  
“Quidditch is a wizarding sport,” Rose pitched in from Ron’s side, leaning forward so she could see Liz. “There’s a beater, a seeker, chasers and a keeper. Dad and I play in the yard sometimes, but there’s only two of us so it doesn’t work as well.”  
“She’s a chaser, through and through,” Ron said proudly.   
“Dad,” she said, embarrassed.   
“What? You are.”   
They wandered down the street, Rose stopping at every one. Liz followed gamely behind, peering into every window with wonder. When they happened upon Flourish and Blotts, Liz gasped and her eyes widened.  
“Go in?” she asked, tugging on John’s hand.   
“Of course,” John grinned at Hermione. “I’m sure no one will mind the pit stop.”  
“I never say no to Flourish and Blotts,” she answered with a grin.  
They walked in, towers of books greeting them precariously from between bookshelves.   
Sherlock let go of Liz’s hand, wandering as if in a dream into the stacks.   
“Hey Rose, it’s been a while since I’ve been. Can you show us where the children’s books are?”  
“Right over this way!” she said, heading down an aisle confidently. She stopped in front of a small, tilting bookshelf that was crammed full of colourful books of all sizes.   
“Tales of Beedle the Bard!” John exclaimed, pulling out a tall thin book from the shelf. “This was my favourite. Look, Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump! And The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. These were my childhood. I’m buying this.” He tucked the book under his arm, reaching for another.   
“See anything interesting?” He asked Liz. She reached forward and pulled out a small blue book.  
“Oh, The Witch who Couldn’t See! That’s one of my favourites,” Rose said excitedly. “It’s about a witch who gest cursed by a wizard and has to find a counter-curse to get her sight back. It’s really quite exciting!”   
Liz nodded, looking at John.   
“We can pick that one up, too. We’ll read it together.” John stood and ran his hand over Liz’s head. “Liz, I’m going to go look at the Healer books right over there.” John pointed to a shelf a few bookshelves down that was still in sight. “I want you to stay here with Rose and keep looking at books. I won’t be out of sight, alright?”  
Liz looked apprehensive but nodded, turning back to the bookshelf.   
Rose continued to browse books beside Liz, occasionally commenting on a book that she found interesting. Liz was quiet, but answered the few questions Rose asked her. Mostly, Rose seemed happy to provide a comfortable mixture of nonsensical chatter and friendly silence.   
They spent another half hour in the bookstore and, after John had fished Sherlock out from the stacks and paid for the large pile of books they had accumulated, they wandered back out down the street.   
“What’s that?” Rose asked quietly, pointing at Ollivander’s.   
“That’s the wand shop,” John answered, leading her over hand-in-hand. “Do you want to go in?”  
“Okay.”  
They entered the small, cluttered shop. Wands lined every bit of wall space available, and dust hung thick in the air.   
“Witches and wizards get their wands when they turn eleven, right before they go to Hogwarts. That’s the school of witchcraft and wizardry,” Rose said from behind them.   
Liz nodded, looking around again before turning and leading the way out the door, having lost interest.  
“Madame Malkins?” John asked as they exited Olivanders. It was starting to get late, and John could tell Liz’s energy was waning.   
“Okay,” she said. Her feet were dragging as she walked down the street and after a few steps, she stopped and pulled on John’s hand.  
“Carry me?” she asked quietly, looking down at the ground.   
“Of course,” John said, stooping down and easily hoisting her up.   
“Ooooh, can I get new pink robes, Mummy?” Rose asked as they entered Madame Malkins. A squat woman greeted them at the front, and John informed her they were just browsing.  
“Sure, go see if you can find some that fit.”  
Rose scurried off to find robes and John followed after her, hoping to be led towards the children’s section. He passed by mannequins of all shapes and sizes wearing different robes. As he passed, the mannequins shifted into different poses.   
They ended in a brightly-coloured corner of the shop, small robes of all colours stuffed onto several racks along the wall.  
“Anything look good?” John asked Liz. Sherlock, who had followed behind them, pulled out a set of small deep purple robes.   
“These are nice,” he said, showing them to Liz.   
“I have a set of robes like that at home!” Rose said excitedly.   
“Maybe not,” Sherlock murmured, moving to put the robes back.  
“I like ‘em,” Liz said quietly and Sherlock changed direction, draping the robes over his arm.   
“Any others catch your eye?”  
Liz glanced at a small mannequin wearing bright, flowery robes before quickly looking away.   
“Flowers, hm?” John asked. “They’re cute.” John spotted them on a rack and pulled out a size he thought would fit Liz. He handed the robes to Sherlock to be added to his pile. Sherlock looked insulted at being turned into a shopping cart, but didn’t verbally complain.   
“How about those robes over there?” John carried Liz over to a rack and pulled a set of robes out. They were navy blue with little silver stars sprinkled across them. When the fabric shifted, the stars winked in and out of existence.   
“Pretty,” Liz said reverently from John’s arms.   
“Now, how about we find some robes for Sherlock?” John asked Liz.  
‘Yeah!” she said, leaning her head on John’s shoulder. John led the way to the adult robes, where they found Hermione and Ron.   
“Any luck?” Hermione asked.   
“Yes, we found some very nice robes for Liz,” Sherlock said, brandishing the robes draped over his arm.   
“Oooh, pretty,” Hermione cooed. “We’re going to collect Rose and we’ll wait for you outside?”  
“Sounds good,” John answered, turning to the racks of robes. Hermione and Ron slid past them and to the children’s section. “Oh, Sherlock, look! You and Liz could match!” he said, pulling out a pair of dark purple robes.   
Sherlock rolled his eyes but reached for the robes, taking them over to a mirror.   
“You look smashing,” said a voice, and Sherlock jumped and turned around, looking for the source of the voice.   
“It’s the mirror,” John chuckled as he walked over, holding a pair of red robes in front of him.   
“That colour really suits you,” the mirror told John.   
“So we’re getting these and the purple ones,” John said resolutely. “Liz, would you mind going to Sherlock for a minute?”   
“M’kay,” Liz held her arms out and Sherlock took her in his one arm, holding the other out to John to scoop off the robes. John took the bundle up to the witch behind the counter. While he paid, Sherlock exited the store, Liz in his arms.   
“Down, please,” she said when they got out. Sherlock set her down on the ground.   
“Liz, come look at this!” Rose said, grabbing her hand and flitting over to a window filled with what looked like sweets, as well as a display of pink fluffy creatures. “This is my uncle’s shop,” Rose said. “He’s pretty cool.”  
Liz hummed, peering deeper into the store at all the colourful wares. She rubbed tiredly at her eye with her free hand. Sherlock watched for any signs of distress from Liz, but she seemed at ease with Rose.   
“Wow, that looks like fun,” John said from behind them, laying a hand on Liz’s shoulder. “But, I think we’re about ready to go home. Maybe we’ll stop at Florean’s on our way out.”   
John took Liz’s hand and she let go of Rose’s.  
“We’re going to stop in hereand say hi to George, so we’ll be parting ways. It was good to see all of you again. We should do this again soon.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Ron added, nodding to all of them and taking Rose’s hand. “Rose?”  
“It was very nice to meet you,” she said beaming at all of them. “Maybe Liz can come over and play sometime?”  
“I’m sure she would like that,” Ron said, smiling at Liz.   
“Yeah,” Liz said, leaning against Sherlock’s side. “Nice to meet you.”   
Sherlock smiled. “Goodbye.”  
Sherlock turned and walked down the road, towing Liz behind him. With a last smile and a “I’ll text you later,” John turned and followed his partner.   
The stopped by Florean’s on their way out and got large ice cream cones. They sat in front of the shop and ate them, Liz getting ice cream all over her face. She grinned and ate happily, not slowing down until the whole thing was gone. When they were all done they made their way back to The Leaky Cauldron and used Floo powder to get back to Baker Street.   
After tumbling out of the fireplace and into their sitting room, the three of them settled down onto the sofa for a bit of telly before bed. Liz was asleep ten minutes in, and John carried her up to bed. Once he had settled her down, he went and joined Sherlock on the sofa.   
“I think that went well,” he said as he curled up against Sherlock, leaning his head on his shoulder.   
“Rose seems good for her,” Sherlock answered, wrapping his arm around John.   
“It’ll be good for her to have a friend,” John agreed, and they sat there until John couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and then Sherlock took him to bed.


	6. Oh dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've finished writing the last three chapters, so now it's just a matter of seeing if I can wait a week to post each or if I just dump them all. Anyway, enjoy this one!

A few days later found Sherlock and Liz in the kitchen, performing a small experiment at the table. Liz had expressed interest earlier in the form of standing beside Sherlock, looking aptly up at him. Sherlock had conceded, picking her up and placing her on his lap. At first he had only let her peer through his microscope, hands hovering nervously around her and the microscope. She had been extra careful, peering into the microscope and quietly asking a few questions.   
It was now late afternoon and they had progressed to a small experiment involving baking soda and vinegar. John was staying in the sitting room, newspaper and tea in hand. He wanted Sherlock and Liz to bond, and he didn’t want to be the one to clean up the experiment when it inevitably erupted.   
John was just getting lost in the advice columns when his reading was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by Sherlock yelling loudly. There was a deafening pop and John scrambled up, newspaper flung to the floor in his haste.  
“Liz!” Sherlock yelled as John entered the kitchen. Sherlock was on the stool, clutching his hand and staring at the empty space in front of him.   
“What happened?” John asked brusquely, moving to Sherlock and gently taking his hand.   
“She disappeared.” Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to clear his thoughts. “We were about to pour the vinegar when the beaker shattered in our hands. I got the brunt of it, but she got startled and disappeared. How do we find her, John?”  
There was a note of panic in Sherlock’s voice that John had never heard before, and it grounded him. Clearly he would need to be the composed one this time.  
“One thing at a time, Sherlock. I’m going to get the glass out of your hand and bandage it quickly and then we’ll call Mycroft, alright?”  
“I’ll call him while you bandage my hand,” Sherlock said, already reaching for his phone.   
“That’s fine,” John said. “I’m going to get my kit, I’ll be right back, alright?”   
Sherlock didn’t answer, preoccupied with finding his brother’s contact and lifting the phone to his ear.   
When John got in the bathroom he opened the medicine cabinet to pull out his kit. As he did, he noticed Liz’s small toothbrush sitting patiently beside his and Sherlock’s and he felt his heart clench. He took a shaky breath and pulled out the kit, closing the cabinet resolutely and stalking back out to the kitchen.  
Sherlock was still on the stool, tapping his foot impatiently and snapping into the phone.   
“Five minutes ago. No. Just disappeared. I don’t know Mycroft, you know magic for God’s sake, you tell me!”  
John gently took the phone from Sherlock’s hand and put it on speaker phone, putting it down on the table. He spread his kit out on the table as well, pulling out a pair of tweezers and getting to work.  
“-seems she may have Apparated in her nervousness. I’ve got staff scanning CCTV as we speak.” Mycroft’s voice sounded tinny through the phone.  
“Is there any way you or Hermione could do a tracking spell? Does she have the Trace?” John asked as he gently removed a piece of glass from Sherlock’s palm. Blood welled and dripped slowly onto the floor as John put the glass on the table. Sherlock hissed but otherwise didn’t say anything.  
“Ah, hello John. No, unfortunately the Trace is only put on young witches or wizards after it is brought to the Ministry’s attention that they exist. It takes a few weeks for the Trace to be implemented, and Liz’s hasn’t been placed yet.”  
“And is there any other way to magically track her?”  
“Ms. Granger and I are working on it,” Mycroft said tersely.   
“Well work faster,” Sherlock snapped as John tilted his hand, deciding whether it needed stitches or not. Sherlock ended the call, slamming his phone onto the table. “Fat load of good that did,” he groused, slouching in his chair as John pulled out butterfly bandages.   
“We know Mycroft and Hermione are both working on finding her. That’s something,” John said as he carefully applied the bandages. He pulled out a roll of gauze and wrapped a few layers around Sherlock’s hand. “Be gentle on the hand, please?” John asked futilely.   
“Stop patronizing me,” Sherlock snapped, taking his hand back and restlessly scooping up his phone. John leaned back in his chair, visibly taken aback.   
“Right,” he said, angrily picking up the supplies from the kit and slamming them into it. He snapped it shut and scooped it up, stomping into the bathroom. He blindly put the first aid kit away, too angry at Sherlock’s outburst to see what he was doing. As he was turning to exit the bathroom, he saw Sherlock standing there, blocking the doorway.   
“Yeah?” he said shortly.   
“I’m… I shouldn’t have said that,” Sherlock said softly.  
“Probably not,” John agreed.  
Sherlock reached out for John, but stopped when John didn’t immediately reach out for him.   
“John?”  
“I’m just trying to help you, Sherlock,” John said roughly, not meeting his eyes.  
“I know. I do,” Sherlock insisted when John looked at him in disbelief. “It’s just- I don’t attach myself to people easily,” he said stiffly. “And when I do, I do it fully. Irrevocably. With all of my being.” His injured fist clenched momentarily and then sprung open again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this worried,” Sherlock admitted. “Except maybe at the pool, when you had that bomb strapped to your chest.” Sherlock met John’s eyes and John could see all the hurt and worry that Sherlock tried to keep hidden bubbling to the surface. Sherlock’s lips tipped downwards momentarily and it was all John needed to surge forward, arms like a vice around Sherlock’s torso as Sherlock’s knees went weak.   
Sherlock’s arms wrapped around John’s shoulders and his face landed on top of John’s head. He curled as close to John as he could and just breathed, a long shaky sigh puffing over John’s hair.   
“Emotions are tough, hm?” John asked sympathetically, running his hand up and down Sherlock’s back. Sherlock hummed in agreement, letting himself rest in the quiet space for a moment.   
“Sorry,” he mumbled softly, pulling away from John after a moment and running a hand over his wet eyes.   
“It’s okay,” John soothed, reaching down to take the phone from Sherlock’s hand. He replaced the phone with his own hand, towing Sherlock out to the sitting room.   
“Sit,” he said, pointing to the sofa and Sherlock complied, sitting and looking curiously at John. John lifted Sherlock’s phone and unlocked it, hitting Mycroft’s contact information.  
“It’s me,” John greeted. “Is there any way we could come down to the ministry and help out somehow?” He listened for a moment. “Great, be there in a tick.” He pulled the phone from his ear.   
“What was that?” Sherlock asked.  
“We are going to the Ministry for Magic.”


	7. To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just a fluffy mass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) leave me a note if you like it!

John and Sherlock arrived at the Ministry via Floo Powder ten minutes later. As soon as they stepped out of the fireplace, they were greeted by Anthea.   
“For you,” she said, handing them each a badge that read ‘Visitor, clearance 1’. “This way,” she continued, turning and stalking off towards the lifts. John and Sherlock followed, Sherlock glancing around and trying not to gape at the large polished hall in which they had landed. A large empty area halfway down the hall was the only blemish in an otherwise gilded, grand hall.   
“What used to be there?” Sherlock asked.  
“Statue,” Anthea answered, not slowing.   
“It portrayed wizards as better than every other creature on Earth,” John explained as they hurried across the hall. “The current Minister, Kinglsey Shacklebolt, is trying to better relations between wizards and other creatures, so he had it removed.”  
There was a loud clanking as they reached the lifts and a golden grille slid back, allowing them to enter. They got into the lift with three other witches and wizards and a handful of flying memos. Anthea pressed the button for the first floor.  
“I thought Mycroft would be working in the Department of Mysteries,” John said with a grin.  
“Mr. Holmes has many offices,” Anthea murmured, plucking a memo out of the air.   
“Of course he does,” John murmured.   
“Level one, Minister for Magic offices,” a cool voice announced from overhead. Anthea led the way out of the lift and now it was John who was trying not to gawp, head craning around. He had never met or even been near a Minister of Magic before.   
Several doors lined a circular waiting room. There was a cluster of chairs in the center circled around a low table. Anthea led them to one of the doors, knocking twice before entering. John and Sherlock followed behind her.   
Inside, Hermione and Mycroft were sat at a table, pieces of parchment scattered around them. Mycroft was on his cellphone while Hermione was muttering and waving her wand over a large piece of parchment.   
“I’m trying to get the Trace placed on her,” Hermione said, glancing up at them as they came in.   
John walked closer to the table and realized that Hermione was hunched over a map of London.   
“Is there anything I can do?” John asked, looking over the scattered parchments.   
Mycroft hung up his phone. “My staff have not spotted her on any CCTV yet, but they will continue looking.”  
Hermione went back to chanting spells under her breath, the tip of her wand intermittently lighting up. She stopped, frowning at the map. “I think I’ve almost got it,” she mumbled, hefting her wand once more.   
“Isn’t there a department dedicated to placing the Trace?” John asked.  
“Yes, but they’re bogged down with paperwork right now. Unless it’s a life-threatening situation, we’re not supposed to push for expedited Traces.”  
“There’s a missing child. I’d say that’s a life in danger,” Sherlock said.   
“Yes, that’s why I’m allowed to place the Trace at all,” she answered distractedly, focusing on the map. Her wand flared brightly for a moment before going out, and then a small blinking light appeared above the map. “Aha! There!” she cried.   
“You’re sure that’s Liz?” Sherlock asked.  
“As sure as I can be,” she replied. They all peered closely at the map.   
“That’s St. James Park,” John said. “It’ll be full of Muggles at this time.”  
Mycroft was already texting on his phone. “We’ll Apparate a few streets away in an alley and follow her on foot from there.” Both he and Hermione stood, Hermione folding the map and slipping it in a pocket of her robes. Mycroft finished his text and put away his phone.  
“Shall we?”

They chose an unpopular intersection and all Apparated, Sherlock side-along Apparating with John. Once they were all together, Hermione pulled out the map and pointed to the blinking light. “It says she’s near here, but unfortunately the map isn’t much more detailed than that. We’re going to have to go it by foot.”  
“My men spotted her by the Horse Guards,” Mycroft said, looking down at his phone.   
“That’s only a block that way,” John said, pointing the way. He started walking at a brisk pace, trying hard not to break out into an all-out run. It was hard to navigate around the sheer amount of people present, but John managed and Sherlock stuck close behind him. John was scanning the press of bodies for one specific brown head.   
Ultimately, it was Sherlock’s height that helped them out. “There!” he said after a couple minutes of craning over other people’s heads, pointing and pushing his way past the throngs of people and towards the entrance to the Guards. John was hot on his heels, and soon they had reached her. Liz was pressed into a corner of the entarnce, sobbing, while an older woman was bent down beside her talking to her.   
“Liz!” John cried as Sherlock practically crashed into her, kneeling down wrapping his arms around her. John bent down and wrapped his arms around both of them, breathing out a quiet “oh my god”.   
“Is she yours?” the woman asked kindly from beside them.   
“Yes, thank you,” John answered, pulling away. “We were worried sick.”  
“Sorry,” Liz whispered, her voice watery. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she started sobbing again.  
“Oh, Liz, it’s okay,” John soothed, reaching down to pick her up from Sherlock’s arms. “I think it’s time we went home.”   
Sherlock stood and wrapped his arm around John’s waist. “Agreed. Thank you,” he said with finality to the woman, and they turned and joined Hermione and Mycroft, who were waiting for them a little ways away from the throng of people.   
“We’re going home,” Sherlock informed them.  
“As you should,” Hermione agreed. “I’ll be in touch to follow up.”  
“Thank you, both of you, for your help today,” John nodded to them. “Ready?” he asked Sherlock. He nodded and gripped John’s arm.   
John took a step and the world twisted and reshaped around them, solidifying into 221B. John walked over to the couch, sitting with Liz in his lap.   
“Liz,” he said gently. “We want you to know we’re not angry at you, okay?”  
Liz, who hadn’t pulled her face out from John’s shoulder, shrugged.   
“No, Liz, look at us please.” John felt Liz shake her head against his neck. “Liz, come on, you’re okay. We’re not angry, we were just worried about you.”   
Slowly she pulled her face away from his neck, but kept her arms locked around it. Her face was a mess of snot and tears, hair sticking to one cheek.   
“Sorry,” she said again, tears welling up.  
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Sherlock said, rubbing her back. “Accidents happen. You’re back with us now, that’s all that matters.”  
More tears coursed down Liz’s cheeks. “You give me back?”  
“What?” John asked, recoiling from the question.   
“You angry? Gonna give me back?”  
“We would never give you to anyone,” John said firmly. “And we are not angry, we promise. You are ours, forever and always, alright?”  
John knew that although he and Sherlock hadn’t had a proper conversation about it, he was telling the truth.   
Liz just nodded, putting her face back against John’s neck and letting out a shaky breath.

Mycroft visited the next day with adoption papers.  
“To ensure that going to the Muggle authorities will be easier, should something like this happen again.”  
“Although we hope it won’t,” Sherlock responded, putting his mug of tea on the table. Liz was sat in his lap. She had refused to let either of them go the night before and had been clingy all morning. Neither Sherlock nor John were complaining.   
“Wow, Mycroft, thank you. This means a lot.” John took the papers from Mycroft and flipped through.  
“The places where you need to sign are marked,” he said, procuring a pen for John to sign.  
He did without hesitation, handing the papers and pen over to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned forward and placed the papers on the coffee table, signing them with a flourish and capping the pen. John marveled at how such a small action could be so significant. With a few marks of pen, they had adopted another person permanently into their lives.   
“I brought a gift for Liz,” Mycroft said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small box no larger than his palm. “Often, the day of adoption is recognized every year by the family. I thought I’d start the tradition.”  
“Did your research?” John asked as Mycroft walked over to Liz, awkwardly giving her the box. It was wrapped in thick gold wrapping paper with a red ribbon. Liz tore the sides carefully, slipping the box out of the paper. It was a small velvet jewelry box with a simple latch on the front.   
When Liz opened it, she saw a beautiful locket an inch long nestled in the fabric. It was made of a dark wood with delicate silver filigree covering it.   
“Open it,” Mycroft prompted softly. Liz did as instructed, carefully taking the locket out of the box and prying it open. Inside on the left was a moving picture of Sherlock ,and on the right was a picture of John. They were both candids, neither of them looking into the camera but rather smiling off into the distance. John wasn’t sure how Mycroft got the pictures, but wasn’t about to question the lovely gift.   
“Wow,” Liz breathed.   
“It’s got one more trick,” Mycroft said. “Close it, hold it close, and say Lumos.”  
Liz closed it reluctantly, nestling it close to her face and whispering “Lumos” into her hands.   
A soft light began to emanate from the wood in the locket, the light dancing off the silver filigree.   
“Sherlock was afraid of the dark as a child,” Mycroft said, smirking at him. “I thought it might be comforting to have something that projects light with you.”  
“Mycroft, that’s incredible,” John said. “How did you do it?”  
“It’s sort of a mini-wand,” he explained. “There’s a bit of unicorn hair to act as a core. It can’t do much else than glow, but it serves the purpose desired.”  
“That’s brilliant,” John said again, looking suitably impressed.  
Sherlock looked disgruntled. “What do you say, Liz?” he asked reluctantly.  
“Thank you,” she whispered, holding it out so that Sherlock could secure it around her neck. He did, careful not to get it tangled in her hair. When it laid on her chest, she rested her hand over it.   
“You are most welcome,” Mycroft said stiffly, leaning over to pick up his copy of the adoption forms. He turned to fetch his umbrella from beside the door and, as he picked it up, he felt a pair of small arms wrap firmly around his waist.   
“Oh,” he said, patting the hand that was at his navel. Liz unsnaked her arms after a moment and Mycroft turned to see her properly. “Take care of your fathers, alright?”  
A curious look came into Liz eyes and she looked over at John and Sherlock, considering them for a moment before nodding and grinning a bit. She scampered over to Sherlock and John, clambering onto the couch so she was curled up between them.   
“We’ll see you later, Mycroft,” John said, and Mycroft gave a wave of his hand before letting himself out.   
The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Liz holding on to each of their hands. John turned on the telly, flicking through channels until he found a suitably crap show. Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes but settled in, slinging his arm over the back of the sofa and playing with the hair at the nape of John’s neck. John looked over and smiled gently, leaning over Liz to peck Sherlock on the lips before settling back in, leaning into his touch.   
They sat together, letting one episode roll into the next. John kept glancing down at Liz and, although she had a small furrow between her brows, she seemed happy enough to sit and watch telly.   
They were halfway through a Maury episode when Liz tugged on both their hands. John immediately turned down the volume on the telly, angling himself to show Liz she had his full attention.   
When she saw she had both their attention, Liz untangled her hands from Sherlock and John’s, wrapping one around the locket and the other in the hem of her shirt.   
“What is it, Liz?” Sherlock asked gently.  
“Mycroft said…” she petered off, looking nervously at the hem of her shirt. “you’re my dads?”  
“That wasn’t really his place to do,” John mumbled, continuing at a more normal level, “but we have just legally adopted you, so we are responsible for you now. That’s okay, right?”  
Liz hastened to nod.  
“You don’t have to call us father if you don’t want to, Sherlock and John are fine,” Sherlock said, seeming to sense Liz’s dilemma.  
“Is that it? You’re worried about what to call us?” John asked when Liz didn’t answer.  
Liz blushed, looking nervous but excited. “Maybe?”  
“Is there anything specific you want to call us?”  
Liz looked hesitantly at Sherlock. “Papa?” she asked.  
“I would be honoured,” Sherlock answered, his voice tight as he smiled at her.   
“Dad?” she asked, looking at John.  
“Of course,” he said, clearing his throat and pretending his eyes weren’t getting damp as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. He wrapped an arm around her and Sherlock wrapped his other arm around her, and they stayed wrapped up tight until Liz fell asleep, a small smile playing on her lips.


	8. Epilogue- 6 years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz gets her letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay here it is, the end! I'll probably have more stories in this universe, keep your eyes peeled!

“Dad, Pa, it came!” Liz cried, thundering down the stairs into the sitting room. She had an envelope clutched in her hand and was waving it excitedly. “Look!”   
She tumbled into John’s lap, who let out an “oof” and put his newspaper to the side.   
“You’re getting too big for that,” he grumbled as he wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her from sliding off. “Let’s see, then.” He watched over her shoulder as Liz tore the letter open, barely looking at the envelope addressed to “Liz Watson-Holmes, upstairs bedroom, 221 B Baker Street”.   
“Dear Ms. Watson-Holmes,” she read aloud as Sherlock came in from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and a beaker in his hand. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later that 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minverva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.” She beamed up at them. “I really get to go!”  
“Of course you do,” John said, chuckling at her excitement. “We’ll have to get you new robes, and a hat, and a cauldron and, oh! a telescope as well. Too bad you can’t bring a broomstick first year, you’re brilliant at Quidditch.”  
“Da,” Liz said, rolling her eyes, “I’m okay at Quidditch. Rose is way better than me.”  
“Don’t be silly,” John said.   
“Oh, I’ve got to go write Rose and tell her!” Liz said excitedly.   
“I’ll text Hermione and coordinate when we can go school supply shopping in Diagon Alley,” John called after her, already pulling out his phone.   
“I can’t decide if I feel better or worse that she uses an owl to communicate with her friend,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, watching her retreat upstairs. “On the one hand, it keeps her off the internet and out of harm from online predators but on the other hand, she’s using one of the most outdated means of communication.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose.   
“It’s a common way of communicating in the wizarding world,” John said as he finished typing a message to Hermione. “Frankly, it’s still more reliable than technology when you’re in a magic-saturated place.”  
“It amazes me that my brother hasn’t figured out a way to fix that,” Sherlock said, frowning.  
“I’m pretty sure he has, actually,” John answered thoughtfully. “I seem to recall seeing him use his cell at the Ministry a number of times. Why would he withhold that information?”  
“Far be it from me to deign to figure out what my brother is planning,” Sherlock shrugged, turning and going back into the kitchen.   
John turned back to his newspaper, getting a few more pages in before Liz came back down the stairs.   
“Da, what house do you think I’ll be in?” She perched on the end of the sofa closest to him, looking equal parts nervous and excited.  
“It doesn’t matter,” John answered immediately.   
“Yeah, alright, but really, which one do you think it will be?” Sherlock walked into the sitting room again at that moment, this time with empty hands. “Pa, what about you?”  
“What about me what?” Sherlock asked, going to sit beside Liz.  
“What house do you think I’ll be in?”  
“Which one do you want to be in?” Sherlock asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.   
“I don’t know, the same as Rose or Albus I suppose,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind being in Gryffindor, like Da and Hermione and Ron and Harry.”   
“We’ll be proud of you no matter which house you end up in,” John reaffirmed, putting his hand on her knee.   
“Although Da will be glowing if you get into Gryffindor,” Sherlock said with a wink.  
“Sherlock,” John admonished, but the smile on his lips betrayed that he wasn’t angry.   
“It’s true,” he said unapologetically.   
“The hat takes all that into account,” John told her, ignoring Sherlock.  
“I know, I know,” Liz said. “Harry told us the same thing when Albus asked last week.”   
“Harry knows what he’s talking about,” John told her. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about that now, you’ve got loads of time to worry about it later.”  
“Okay,” she answered. “Chinese for dinner tonight?”  
And just like that the worry was gone, Liz safe in the knowledge that her fathers would love her and protect her, no matter what was to come.


End file.
